Armello: Remnant of Iron
by CancerousCancer
Summary: A series of unfortunate event had awaken the men to a different plane. The means to survival rest in their leaders as they faced the endless dangers of unknowable magic, deceitful characters and the growing tide of the Rot. How would they fare under the world of Armello?
1. Chapter 1: The Snow

Jason woke from a forgotten dream, an empty dream, filled nothing but darkness. Echoes and screams of the fallen alarmed him from his sleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the grayish sky, snowing down upon him; the trees, naked and dead, were like claws that wanted to reach out to him.

Jason sat up from the snowy bed, groggy and disoriented. Fire and chaos ran rampant everywhere as the carnage from both side lay on the ground, covering by the relentless snow. He was about as confuse from one person to the next, unknown to the transaction that has happened.

When Jason had the strength to stand on two feet, he examined the bodies that were laid; it didn't take long for him to know which side that belong to. For Jason, he wore the standard military uniform in its blue-grayish hue with two white line striking down on the chest: the colors of the Empire.

On the other side, they wore a more ordain type of wear, consist nothing more than a medium-size iron armor, coated in blood and gold with a mask to affiliate of an avian: the colors of the Scarlet Order.

From the chaos, a red soldier emerged from the snow, sword drawn and bare towards Jason. Eyes that flashed with zealotry and passion, the soldier swung its blade. Jason luckily dodged the lethal blow, escaping death mere inches away from his neck. He didn't hesitate upon his action and aimed towards the soldier with his trusted musket.

At close range, fire and iron burst forth from the end of the barrel, blowing the soldier's brain instantaneous and without effort. As the soldier fell, its head gushing out of blood, the chaos intensified.

Jason wasn't the only person that was still breathing; several of his bluegray comrades had begin to act like he did: eliminating the Scarlet stragglers. The other did the same as well for their ruthless prowess of the blade made short work on unsuspected target.

Even after all that had happen, their sudden transport in this unknowable plane, two sides fought over control of the land, of the snow, not knowing when the other would give in.

Jason saw what it was: a feast of blood and death. Nothing much glorious or honorable in a battle; just unspeakable slaughter until one side wins over the other. There was blood, and lots of it. Men died while they stand; men died at the ground, struggling to live on, and men died in their sleep; never to wake again from the torture that has inflicted upon him.

The slaughter raged on for hours until, finally, a victor rose in the field: the bluegrays were triumphant. Less than a hundred of them remained, they struggled with their ownilk, tending the need of the wounded and the broken. The red soldiers were not as unfortunate for they were put to the sword without clemency.

Jason had served the Empire and the Royalists since the start of the civil war, but in an honest opinion, he despised the slaughter upon the Scarlet Order; especially when there was no reason to kill when one cannot defend themselves. Yet his comrades, the ones that he befriended and shielded them from harm, decided it was for the best, surrendering their morality for madness. He could see in their eyes, their fear and anger towards the Scarlet was absolute; paramount beyond any measure. Would he follow the same to their madness?

"Pissed gite!" Jason turned to the sound of one of the bluegrays, kicking the already dead soldier. He couldn't tell of the blonde hair that was covered in blood and muck. At that instant, he quickly recognize the voice.

"Javin?" Jason asked.

The blonde bluegray was frozen, shock and eyes wide open. He turned around and gaze at Jason. "B-brother? Is t-that you?" He stuttered, almost speechless to none at all. When Jason gave a slight nod, his eyes began to water and charged forth in a brotherly embrace.

Jason remained silent as the grave and wrapped his arms around him. He could hear Javin sobbed away into despair, collapsing down to his knees.

What has the war had done to him?

What did the war do to his own little brother?

* * *

From fire and steel, chaos and blood, Aviel woke in a terrible cold, feeling a great pain on his chest. He gasped for breath, trying to understand what has happened only to find himself buried down to his waist by the snow.

Aviel laid behind a dead tree with an open view of the field; his eyes wandered at the great space of ice and snow. He was at the exit of the forest, all alone by himself when he heard a battle from the distant. His head turned to the source, seeing tiny sparks of the enemy's musket ahead.

Musket fire that crackled in the air like fireworks in the night; roaring screams of brave souls where swords and bayonets clashed at one another for dominance. At an impulse, Aviel would likely join at the fray, fighting alongside with his Scarlet brothers against the Royalists and their slave-narrow ilk.

But instead, Aviel decided that enough was enough; his last act of betrayal was absolute as well as his burden. Like many Scarlets before him, disobedience and desertion deserved a terrible fate: any member that broke their sacred oath would find themselves hunted down by their very own. He didn't have the chance before, but this time, this time there was no stopping him.

The Scarlet Order were at the brink of extinction; their numbers, scattered and broken into disarray. The Grand Meisters all but exterminated, leaving stragglers behind of Red footmen and a handful of Burgundian Knights.

Aviel was part of the Black Crimson, one of the few survivors, to his belief, left in the Order; their job was simple: 'end quick, end in silence'. He have been through every corner in the Empire, killing countless people from either an upstart loyal noble to a discreet merchant of coin. When killing was not enough, he would employ other means of success: espionage, rebellion, an informant; he was all of such things and more.

When an acolyte began the role as Crimsonier, they were first taught that discipline breeds loyalty; loyalty breeds faith; faith brings retribution that no man would dare challenge their resolve. Aviel was loyal to the end, and will always loved his brothers, but for the first time without the guidance from his Meisters, he had a choice, his choice alone, at the palm of his hand.

There was no one that would question his motivation or his opposition. Aviel was free; free to do whatever he want and more. If he had the choice to abandon his brothers to their fate in exchange for a slice of life then what stopped him from doing so.

Although Aviel was oblivious to this strange and new world, he knew that he could have a fresh start; a new chapter of Aviel Deumon, last of the Crimsonier.

Aviel stood from the snow, uncertain of the future that awaited him. As much as he was worried there was a sense of excitement in his life; that he wanted something like this to happen. He took one step in the open field of snow and walk toward aimlessly into the horizon, ignoring the horrible sound that was behind him...no matter how much he closed his ears.

Oraas continued to follow the mistress through the brutal carnage that followed. He gazed at what's left of the bluegrays, mending their wounds against the remaining Scarlet. There was a bleak chance that they would not survive as some of the Scarlet were Burgundian Knights.

The mistress took a moment pause. "How many did we lose?" She asked.

"A hundred," Oraas replied. "And a hundred more that followed in the aftermath."

The mistress gave a slight nod. "A terrible toll, but a necessary price. Are the Partishans accountable, Oraas?"

"A couple, only seventeen of us are all that is left. The rest have moved on."

The mistress again, nodded and continued to walk towards the exit of the forest. As the two reach to the end, she pondered at the cold wilderness. "This world...where are we?"

Unfortunately, Oraas felt the same reaction when the mistress gazed the white field. "I cannot say, Milady. Whatever the Scarlet did they have certainly accomplish this beyond normal capabilities. The very air itself reeks of magic. We are no longer in the Empire, Milady, and I'm positive that they do not know either since they got tagged along for the ride."

The mistress remained silent for a moment, contemplating on what to do next. She took several steps to a dead stump and sat upon it, exhausted from the whole ordeal.

"If I may continue, Milady." Oraas said in which the mistress obliged. "We have enough provision to last for two, maybe three days at least and a bulwark of less than a hundred. I've received reports from one of my scouts that they've sighted a village at the far south from here."

"Has the scouts made contact with villagers yet?"

"No, I told them to avoid the place until we know what was going. We do not know if the villagers remain friendly or a threat and with so few numbers, I'll not risk anyone for a mere curiosity."

"Hmm, it is for the best. Sooner that we get there, the better."

Oraas could tell that the toll that was weighing heavily upon the mistress's shoulder. It was supposed to be her retirement after the final siege of the Scarlet Order. Yet she remained as calm and strong like the commanders that he served before her.

"Are the forces ready to move out?" The mistress asked, sitting up from her seat. Her sapphire eyes glared at the horizon.

"With what we've gathered, we could, but with so many of us wounded, it will take some time for them recuperate. Not to mention that they might be more of our men still buried in the-"

"We move by the hour when there is still light with us. Have your Partishan round up whatever men you can find. Take any supplies from the dead. Spare nothing."

Oraas didn't object to her plan and slightly bowed. "As you wish, Milady. I'll order my men to start right away." As the mistress faded back to the camp, the old Partish silently sighed, worried for the mistress and his remaining force.

Oraas could do nothing, nothing but to obey his mistress, like he had since the start of their war against the Scarlet. What awaited them in this strange, new world? What would he and his men find along the way?

Do they face against a force that is beyond to comprehend or is it like any other war, filled with all the glory and all the horror that could have transpire? Or maybe both...


	2. Chapter 2: The Hamlet

At the Mountain Path…

A cold wind stirs among the men, marching in a straight line direction to a lonely path of unknown. They huddled their collars tighter around the neck to battle against the cold and storm, hoping to find some warmth from a nightmare that they venture upon.

"This blizzard is going to be our grave." Oraas Dem, adviser of the mistress, stood beside her at the hill slope with an excellent view over the distant. He had to consider the worst that they were not in the homelands anymore, but rather a strange, alien plane that not everyone could recognize. "The longer we stay in the open, the harder it is for our forces to move. We must seek shelter."

The mistress, Lady Valice of Count Reva, scour the mountains with her telescope, eyeing on the world. "I agree, Master Dem, but where will we go? This land is not like of our home. Everything is different and yet at the same to be beautiful." Lady Valice lowered her telescope, eyes filled with concern. "I do not know if we can return home, Dem."

"Do not be discourage, milady." Dem said. "The scouts that I've send will return very shortly. They will tell us if we are in a different world or not. However, this isn't unlike you to be so distraught over this. You are a Countess, what would happen if your subjects react to your state?"

Valice tried not to show her frustration. Dem had been a loyal servant in her family, and Valice listened to his advice whenever the chance. However, she wasn't a good listener when it came to Dem's outrageous bluntness.

"I am not so easily defeated just yet, Master Dem…Oraas." Lady Valice turned to him. "However, I am quite concerned for the men. Morale is all at the time low and most are wounded from the battle. In the last days of our triumph against the Scarlet, it seems they get the last laugh."

"I'll be the one to worry about that, milady. You mustn't be concern over the men. I have instructed Partishan Callus for the task. He shall take care of them while you rest your weary mind." Dem turned a glance at the approaching soldier. He recognize the outfit right away that it was one of the scouts that returned from their mission. "If you excuse me for a second, milady."

Valice didn't hear the last sentence as Dem focused his attention to the scout's report. Her thoughts were occupied by the disdain of the name: Callus.

Partishan Callus and the rest of the thirty survivors from the forest were unlike any ordinary men. Out of all the Partishan that survived, Valice hoped that Callus was not one of them. She recall of their big debut at the siege of Solus; one city away before the Grey Capitol. What she had witness was beyond miracle as rows of armored men clad in white devastate the massive Red Horde, slaying them with relative ease.

The Partishan made an impression both the Scarlet Order and even the entire world that they were not to be messed with. However, as the war dragged on up to the end, Valice saw the atrocities that the Partishan had done. She saw the crimes been made, saw Callus's injustice against rebels and sympathizers alike. The last time that she saw Callus, he was under the command of Count Deviree in preparation to siege the last stronghold of the Scarlet.

Valice quickly repressed her thoughts about the Partishan for awhile as her adviser returned from his conversation with the scout. "They've spotted an abandon hamlet not far from our destination. About an hour or so we will reach their soon." He pointed. "With your permission, milady, we shall begin to advance onto the hamlet."

The mistress was joyous by the news and delighted that her men may have a chance to survive from the cold. Yet while their fortune seemed to turn over a new leaf, she cannot help but be worried of the dangers unknown to them. Still, she was happy in the case that there was place to rest and lick their wounds.

"Carry them out, Master Dem."

With a firm command, Dem willfully obeyed in departure to the task, leaving Lady Valice alone to her thoughts. Gazing from the distant and beautiful blue mountain, she hoped that whatever lies at the hamlet would provide the essential needs for her men. If there was by chance of inhabitants still laid around then she prayed for a peaceful contact.

The hamlet was just in range of Lady Valice's forces at the outskirt of a large, frozen lake. The first wave of vanguards led by Partishan Simr Var began their advance to claim their new base of operation. Commandant Oraas Dem was not about take any chances with little forces that he could spare even though the scouts reported the hamlet to be abandon.

Although Dem became overcautious and ambivalent in the plan of action, he make up with accurate precision that saved many lives in the process. In the infamous Scarlet Rebellion, Dem learned first hand experience at the hands of the Scarlet. At the cost of his pride, he lost countless good men as well as Garibaldi Reva, father of Valice Reva. Unable to protect an important figure in Reva's lineage, Dem welcomed punishment for his failure, but was given a chance by the mercy of Lady Valice.

As was her father, Oraas Dem shall protect her with his life.

The vanguards gradually advanced on the frozen lake, finding themselves difficult to balance on the slippery ice. Most of Lady Valice's forces had never experience winter before as they all dwelt in an arid climate. Nevertheless, a few soldiers who had lived their whole lives in the cold, were willing to teach the soldiers on the means of winter survival.

Among the vanguards to claim the hamlet, Jason was one of them, struggling to keep his feet balance on the slippery ice. He was deeply worried, not to the hamlet, but to his brother being tended none other than Partishan Callus.

Jason was no fool to hear his name. He heard the tales, the rumors, circled around the soldier. The Partishan made their staunch approach with fury and indomitable spirit, carving through the enemy as they won after each battle for the empire. If the stories the were true.

Jason heard another tale of their ruthlessness against their enemies, the dirty tactics such as using prisoner of wars as meat shields and countless slaughter of innocent villages loyal to the Scarlet. The Empire's 'Butchers' were absolutely given the title for their goal was to win no matter the cost.

Whether Jason believed the tales or not, the very idea that his brother would be in league with them didn't ease his heart. Although profusely concerned, Jason had little choice at the matter as his own brother insisted to partake such request. As Jason loved his brother, he could only hope that the meeting between the two was just a moment brief of their engagement.

The vanguards had cross the frozen lake and made their way to the hamlet. The hamlet was like what the scouts had reported: abandon, eerie and silent as the grave. Yet that didn't stop the Partishan from pursuing to the goals ahead.

Partishan Simr Lars had always stand side by side with Partishan Callus since their grand debut in the siege of Solus. It was a privilege to be chosen by Callus to lead the group and claim the hamlet. Although if he was to die his life mattered little for he was grateful to be the piece of the chess, driving their enemies away in the name of the empire. Nothing was more sacred to him than total victory.

However, as Lars was fully committed to give his life, his vanguards felt a different matter of their situation. It was not as difficult to know that Lars sensed their fear, festered in the mix with a deep and unrelenting hatred towards the Partishan. Lars paid little attention of their matter for they would be dead by the Scarlet Order if not for the intervention of the Partishan.

The vanguard group entered the hamlet; their eyes wandered in cautious advance. Lars quickly pointed at the two volunteers and directed at the nearest structure.

"Remius, Bovo!" Partishan Lars voiced with an authoritarian tone. "Begin your sweep of the place. The amount of ore lying around suggested the place to be a metal workshop. Check of any materials that we can use for our gunsmith."

The two soldiers nodded at his command and entered the house. Lars gave the entire group to check around the hamlet and report back to any discovery. As the group dispersed the only people left were Jason and Tobias as they followed Lars towards a large structure at the top of a small hill.

Lars kicked the door with his halberd at the ready, followed by Jason and Tobias from behind, wielding standard military musket in aim. They advanced through the building, venturing deeper to the uneasy silence, but all that they find was an empty room, filled with long tables and benches. It was then that realized the large structure that they've entered was a longhouse.

The three eased their shoulder to explore freely of the area, seeing as the room was cleared of any danger. Reaching at the end of the longhouse, Lars spotted a wooden throne, ordained in bits of jewel and silver. Already at an instant, the Partishan took a whiff to smell the stained blood on the seat. While the two musketeers observed somewhere else, Lars investigated the throne much closer. With a scratch of his finger, Lars tasted the blood as his eyes began to glow an ambient, bluish light.

Secret from the public view, the Partishans had a terrible talent to visualize the memories of an individual through the use of his or her blood. This was one of the many reason why the Partishans won over the Scarlet as they knew their plans, their tactics, and identifies hidden within the empire.

Since the blood was already dry, Lars could only glimpse a tiny portion of the person's life. Lars paused a moment of the vision, his face remained neutral and cold. He struggled to acquire the information he needed until his face suddenly turned into a painful expression.

The vision was but brief as Lars' eyes reverted back to normalcy. "What in Savior Right did I see?" Lars mentally asked as he felt a chill, like he had never before, ran across his spine.

Just before Lars could understand what to make from his vision, he was quickly interrupted when Jason approached him.

"Sir, one of the soldiers outside request your audience." Jason said. "He wanted me to tell you this after he returned back to his partner.

Lars didn't want the soldier to see his pain as he shake away the vision from his mind. He turned his head at Jason with a steely glare. "Who is this soldier and why has he request of my presence?"

"I'm not quite sure myself, sir. However, it seems the soldier, Grimwald, said that Ernest found something at the storehouse not far from our location.

Lars took a moment of silence before he eventually gave a firm nod. "You and Tobias shall stay here and guard the place. Tell me if you discover something in this place while I head to meet this Ernest person."

"As you wish, sir. We shall be here if you needed."

Lars didn't hear the soldier as he was already at the exit. All alone in the snow, he shake his head furiously, denying the visions of the blood. He was in a state of disbelief, distracted by the idea that something exist. At first he saw an animal, brown matted fur with a pointed snout, walking on two legs like some human, but that changed when it abruptly transformed into something monstrous. All that he saw now was a massive beast, draped in black feathers.

After that the vision ended there.

Lars was sure of himself that this place, this world, was no longer their own, but a land filled with beasts and monsters. The main question that Lars wanted to know was where the transformed monster went to?


	3. Chapter 3: The Converse

At the storehouse, Ernest stood guard at the entrance of the basement where the strange piece of an artifact laid idle by underneath his feet. Deep in thought, he cannot find words to describe the majestic detail and power below the floor. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Such a rare find was worth much more than mere common gold.

Beside of Ernest, who was completely mesmerized of his discovery, Grimwald reacted differently and smiled a madden glee. Sparkle in his eyes, he sought out of the prize and the chance for profit. Whether it was vague or powerful if there was a price to be made then Grimwald was the right man for the job.

However, as much as the former thief would like to take it to sell of the highest bidder, Grimwald decided it wasn't the best and quickly gave up. He didn't want to risk the wrath of the Commandant.

Grimwald left the storehouse to report to the Partishan. It had been fifteen minutes after that and Ernest remained at the wait for their return. Just as he was about to close his eyes footsteps were heard just outside. He watched the door open to find a large figure in full set of pale armor.

The Partishan arrived at last.

"You are Ernest, correct?" The Partishan, Simr Lars, spoke calmly. "Your friend, Grimwald, is with Remius, carrying the supplies from the workshop. Proceed to him and follow his command. Is that clear, soldier?"

Ernest understood and deeply bowed with respect. He had a profound admiration of the Partishans. He would never forget that day when their courage saved his people from death at the hands of the Scarlet Order.

"As you wish, milord."

Partishan Lars confirmed with a nod and remained silent as Ernest left the storehouse. Alone by himself, Lars already felt a strong source of energy lurking below the basement. Its energy wasn't foul or devious but rather a pleasant vibe that presented him.

The Partishan proceeded down into the basement. As he gradually opened the door, a gush of cool breeze blew at his face. There was an ambient glow, a soft light that surround the basement. He went further ahead as the light grew brighter than ever before. At the end, he spotted the source for the light.

It was a stone. A single chunk of oceanic ore that emitted an innocent glow of light. It had strange markings all over the piece and laid firmly attach on a stone post, perfectly arranged as a personal trophy.

Lars didn't suspect the strange energies would be coming from a single, pathetic rock. He reached his hand towards the stone without a thought of hesitation or fear. He touched the surface and lifted it with ease. Again, it was another surprise to him that the stone weighed nothing more than a feather.

Lars brought his face much closer, seeing his own reflection from the stone. He wasn't prepared to deal with when a jolt of energy ran through his face and his fingers. The sudden reaction was unavoidable. He dropped the stone to the ground, shattering it into million of pieces before the debris fade from existence.

The blue light was no more, replaced by a pitch black of darkness that engulfed the basement.

Lars shook off the pain from his fingers and lighted the torch. He cursed silently under his breath, agitated that he couldn't bring the stone to his superior in one piece. All that was left from the stone was rendered useless, nothing more than mere rock and dust. Aside from the situation, he was relieved that it didn't explode.

With the purpose to bring the stone was unsuccessful, Lars made his way back upstairs, disappointed that the trip to the storehouse was just a waste of his time. He wasn't even sure the purpose of the stone or its usefulness.

Although Lars left the storehouse, he somehow felt much better for some reason. He didn't feel the soreness from his back or the arduous pain in his head since his introduction to the Partishan.

"Probably the weather," Lars simply guessed as he turned his direction to his group.

In what had been hours of peaceful exploration, the vanguards had checked the hamlet and found nothing dangerous or otherwise a threat that surround the hamlet. Although Partishan Lars was skeptical of the blood from the longhouse, he was convinced it was safe for the rest of the forces to arrive.

With the word from Partishan Lars, rows after rows of imperial gunners marched into the hamlet, bringing along Lady Valice and the Partishans. They quickly chosen a large house to deliver the wounded and the broken.

In conclusion, the vanguards reported that the entire hamlet itself was empty, barren from any life. The hamlet had several houses that were enough to fill the remnant of Lady Valice's forces and supplies that last for several months.

Partishan Lars reported to his superior, Callus, about the stone and a humanoid beast from his blood vision. He had already mention the stone to the lady, but didn't mention about the blood vision for reason that she cannot understand.

The Partishan closely guarded their secret of blood vision from the public. The ability to glimpse through a person's memories through the taste of blood was considered heretical to most citizens. If the public knew that their pride and joy were but vampiric monsters the consequences might excel into another open rebellion.

The Partishans had been quickly informed by Callus of the humanoid beast, openly vigilant for more strange creatures similar to his description.

After days integrating to the new world and recuperating the wounded soldiers, the hamlet was transformed into a base of operation. One of the many things to come in the name of the Empire. With the construction of the wooden wall underway, the soldiers geared up for an expedition to explore the unknown territories of the land. All they needed was the command of the Lady.

From the window sill of the longhouse, Lady Valice watched her troops from afar, feeling a tremendous relief and gratitude that they survived the terrible gruesome of winter and the merciless Red Horde of the Scarlet Order. The men outside of the longhouse were seasoned veterans of the Scarlet Rebellion, efficient sharpshooters and killers alike. Some were loyal to her late father, Garibaldi Vera, some opened out with bitter resentment of her leadership and fewer declared their services to the Lady.

Accountable to the number of survivors less than a hundred made out alive from the forest. What have been a battalion was substantially reduced to a small pocket remain of weary and exhausted soldiers. Even the Partishan with over five hundred men were cut down to twenty three, dangerously close to extinction.

With many problem in her hand, Lady Valice had to be cautious in her decision without a mere chance to hesitate. The survival of her men, the Partishans and Oraas Dem rest under her shoulder. She was ready to sacrifice whatever the means necessary for the safety of a few remnant of iron.

"I see that you're still daydreaming of the outside world." Oraas Dem presented from behind. "The men wanted to know when they can start their expedition? They've been waiting outside for an hour already."

"I know, Oraas. I know, but we cannot be sure what they would suspect out there."

"As always you have a profound kindness of your men."

Valice smirked. "Too bad the men doesn't show the same."

"Give it time, milady. The men served your father in the beginning of the rebellion. Transition to new leadership is never easy. However, if you are worried for them then your concern is misplaced. I trained these men under your father for many years. They are well prepared for the task."

"I hope you are right." Lady Valice sighed lightly. "We cannot afford to lose any men at this point on."

Lady Valice turned away from the window and moved to the center of the room where a pale armored Partishan stood in wait.

"Good morning, my leader." Dumar Callus, nonofficial leader of the Partisan, gave a slight bow before her. "How was your sleep? I hope the night didn't bother you or anything at the matter."

Lady Valice hated the man out of all of the Partishan. She heard tales of his dark deeds of malevolence and cruelty in the Scarlet Rebellion, disregarding the lives of both friend and foe alike.

"I am well, Sir Callus. The night isn't terrible than you would imagine." Valice made a feint smile as she sat down at a nearby table. "This would be the last time we'll see each other."

"Yes. Might take days from here and back, but it would be worth it."

"I hope so. We abandon a lot of good people back there. I cannot imagine how they would survive in the forest. Alone in the darkness."

"They are probably dead as we speak." Callus stated, densely which the Lady hid well of her painful expression of annoyance towards him. "The chances of survival is slim and if they manage to survive then they have already deserted the Empire in exchange their pitiful life. Oh my apologies, I mean their years of loyal service.

"However, we shall see if there is any survivors that stayed true to the Empire. My concern are the remnants of the Scarlet Order."

"The Scarlet Order?!" Oraas Dem blurted out with shock. "Surely you must be joking that their despicable order still lives do you? My men have check every inch and corner of that hellish landscape and blow their nightmare's head off if they are still breathing. There is no reason to think that they manage to survive from that place."

Partishan Callus craned his head and smiled toward at Dem. It was a demented smile, filled with murderous intent for blood and pleasure. "Never underestimate a Scarlet, dear Commandant. Their tenacious determination and their own personal cowardice might serve as the motivation to live rather than fight to the death."

"Is this the reason why you want to lead the expedition?" Lady Valice asked, worryingly. "To kill every last man, woman and child that sided with the Order? "

"An optional objective, milady. Nothing that would risk to your goals." Callus simply replied. "However, the Order is but a blight that have aged into an avarice swine. If any of them manage to survive their teachings of indulgence and corruption would spread throughout the land, making a new Order out from the ruin.

"My duty, and the duty of the Partishan, is too bring peace to the Empire and destroy any that might disrupt the harmony of the land. Including the Scarlet Order. Now, as much I would like to discuss the extensive details, do I have your permission to proceed with the expedition?"

Lady Valice was not an ideal woman if she was to let Callus be in charge of the mission. She might simply decline his request and replaced him with a more suitable candidate, but if she did then the whole group of Partishans would voice in protest, even as far as to take over her forces if she was deemed unfit of command..

"Say no more, Sir Callus." She said, mentally sighing, making a standard gesture of hand. "You have my permission. May your journey be safe and may you return in one piece."

Callus quickly smirked, made a light bow and left without a word.

With Callus out from the hearing range, Oraas Dem moved closer to Lady Valice. "Dumar Callus. A prime candidate in the title for Patriot. He might be a dangerous one."

Lady Valice sighed out loud. "Let's hope that it doesn't come to that."

The sound of command from Partishan Callus had set the soldiers into motion as they marched out from the hamlet in a journey back to where it all began, deep into the black and forsaken forest.

Meanwhile, far from the hamlet at the opposite side of the world and safe away from the forest, a single soul ventured into an uncharted course, carried towards to a future wrap with insularity. The figure wore in a magnificent crimson armor, feather and light that move without restriction. The man wandered in the middle of the night, alone and lost in the empty road, never turn his head back to the brothers that were forsaken.

The red armored figure was Aviel Amion, and he was the last of the Order. The last soul that earned the right as a coward.

However, Amion didn't feel the heavy guilt that burden his thoughts nor the frustration over his action. Rather, he was thrilled with exhilaration and a smile that cannot be erase. He was relieve that for the first time in his life, he was no longer bound to the will of the masters.

Aviel Amion, last of the Crimsonier, was free from his chain. It was his life long ambition to leave the Order, forever burying the past.

A Crimsonier was the heart of the Order, consisted to a rare number of few. Through the power from the stone called the Heart, they were grand conjurers of the flame, able to cast brilliant spectacles of light. They served faithfully to the Order, willful servants to help the people that were in need of help. But as the Scarlet war erupted, with their masters command them to do despicable things against an entire nation, they were viewed like any other. Horrendous monsters, vile sorcerers left unchecked that needed to be stop.

Amion cannot erase the deeds that stained his hand, the decision that burned deep into his soul. The powers that he wielded was meant for the goodness of the Empire and to the citizens that dwelt in their peaceful, unimportant lives. Yet the people were victims of corrupt masters, overzealous knights and terrible fools like himself.

Even his fellow Crimsoniers fell to the influence of the masters, already forgotten the creed of what meant to the Order. They become twisted abomination of their former selves, discarding their humanity in the machines for war. He would have join them, unwillingly, intensely even, to die in the master's name if not for one person that changed his life forever.

A young boy with a heart of gold that fell and died in his arm.

From miles of his travel to the quiet darkness the sight illuminated under a pale moonlight. There from ahead, Amion spotted something from the distant. A wheel cart, broken and discarded at the side of the road. He approached to the cart to find it to be empty, but his eyes quickly caught attention not far from it.

It was a body yet it wasn't even human.

A strange, humanlike raccoon laid perched at the tree with a wound through the chest. The wound was large, precision right through the heart. The death was instantaneous. The raccoon wore fine set of garments of yellow and blue with a feathery red cap. A businessman or a noble.

Amion didn't help but to show sympathy for the beast. The sign of struggle suggested that the raccoon was attack by one or more group. Although he had no knowledge of the identity of the raccoon there was a certain chance that the camp was nearby.

Internally debating, Amion faced with two possible choices. Either he would stay to find the camp, pillage the supplies and kill anyone that stood in his way or continue on, march towards the road until the sight of civilization.

The choice wasn't difficult. Amion stayed.

The Crimsonier took action and went off course into the wilderness. He easily found the tracks on the ground, sporadic, traceable for anyone who has good set of eyes. He was a fool to stay, fool to dare such an attempt, but the idea that there might be some food to satisfy his hunger suggested it was worth the risk.

The trail lead Amion just a mile from where the raccoon was discovered. There was a fainting orange light from the distant and strange unintelligible sounds was heard, a mixture of laughter and joyous song.

Amion took precaution in every step of the way, quietly hiding in the shadow, treading inch by inch closer to the light. He wasn't surprised that the camp was littered with wanton beasts, quite similar to the raccoon from earlier. From different shape and size, the beasts gathered around the fire, drinking away with cheerful expression in their faces.

Amion counted about seven of them, all large and intimidating beasts with the exception of one little critter, a rodent of chocolate-brown fur in red and white garment, tied behind a tree with cuts and bruises all over its body.

The beasts were pretentious, unclean with no regard of mannerism. There were different types of animals around the camp, precarious and lethal in their own right. The style of their clothing, dulled colors of brown and grey fabric, made Amion assumed they were mercenaries, common thugs for hire who cared little for others.

Hastily, Amion acted without a plan and stood in the open for the beasts' attention. He raised his hand towards the fireplace.

The fire begin to grew, stronger, brighter than ever before. In the end, the fire exploded in a spectacle brilliance that caught many beasts by surprise. Amion leaped into the chaos with a charred black blade in his hand and sliced clean off at the nearest beast.

While most were covered in flame, some struggled to fend themselves against the intruder. However, in the end, the beasts were taken down one by one, disarmed and intoxicated by the drink.

The procedure was swift and merciless that ended in mere minutes. All the mercenaries were dead from either burned, crushed from the explosion or slayed by Amion. With the campsite cleared, there was only one left that remained.

The brown rodent watched the whole ordeal, still wide awake of the destruction and death that permeated around the camp. With undaunted ruby eyes, the rodent turned to its rescuer, a single individual, draped in vibrant red of armor.

Amion walked towards to the creature, standing before the weak and battered rodent. He raised his hand and aimed for the rope, his hand displayed a faint and fiery glow. As the rope began to catch on fire, it wasn't long before the rodent was released to kiss the dirt.

There was a moment of silence between the two.

Instantaneous, Amion was bit impressed by the resilience of the rodent trying to get back up on its feet though under fatal and severe injuries. He observed safely from a distant as the rodent managed to stand. He got what he came for with supplies that lasted a week. With a nod of confirmation, he went on his way, leaving the camp, the dead mercenaries and the wounded rodent behind without a word.

By reason alone, Amion should have stayed at the camp, tending to the rodent's health, accompanying the creature on a faraway journey of treasure and excitement.

The idea was ludicrous at best.

Amion was not a saint, not a hero to save the day. He was a refugee, a self proclaimed deserter that abandon his brothers to the enemy. He had better things to do than to care for others. It was every man for himself

There was nothing to stop him, nothing to distract on a lonely trail far into darkness.


End file.
